Miraculous Musketeer
by Goldenbrook15
Summary: Adrian is a model, not a movie actor, but apparently the movie directors think he is the perfect person to play the part of D'Artagnan. First, however, they have to corner the teen that somehow tumbled into their film, fought all of their other actors in the middle of a battle scene to a standstill with a fencing sword, and fled. It doesn't help that they don't even know his name.


**_Summary:_** Adrian is a model, not a movie actor, but apparently the movie directors for the new and improved version of The Three Musketeers think he is the perfect person to play the part of D'Artagnan. First, however, they have to corner the teen that somehow tumbled into their film, fought all of their other actors in the middle of a battle scene to a standstill with a fencing sword, and then fled before anyone had even realized what happened. It doesn't help that they don't even know his name.

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Miraculous Ladybug.**

 _Missing in Action_

Adrian coughed harshly as he slid to a stop, darting behind a street stall and startling the vendor manning it. Behind him what sounded like a herd of giant animals poured down the street.

"Young man," the vendor sputtered, but Adrian quickly shushed him as he peeked up and over the wooden counter. Sure enough, the mass of girls milled about, eyes filled with excitement and cameras out and ready. Softly, he cursed under his breath.

The vendor went red in the face, " _Young man,_ I don't care who you are or what you're intending to do but if you don't get out of my produce _this instant_ then I _will_ be alerting the authorities!"

Adrian winced and opened his mouth to apologize, but was interrupted by a shout of, "Adri-kins! There you are!" proclaiming his position to the whole world. His eyes widened.

"Not again," he groaned, then spun around and took off again, ignoring the angry vendor that he had left behind. "Why does this stuff always happen to me?"

 _This_ being the horde of girls currently running him down intent on cornering him and doing who knows what to him.

(They'd never quite managed to get that far. Yet. And he intended to never let them, though it was turning out difficult to loose them this time.)

Really, was it too much to ask for a peaceful afternoon all to himself? No Akuma, no bodyguard, no father, and no crazy fangirls? All he wanted was to enjoy the cool summer day, outside, _alone_ , and maybe buy a gift for Ladybug for their 'one year of being superheroes' anniversary. But, of course, someone had to recognize him. It wouldn't normally be too much trouble if it weren't for the fact that Gorilla wasn't there to scare them away and this part of town rarely had sightings of Chat Noir (meaning he still might get mobbed if he transformed, but by a whole lot more people).

"There he goes!"

"Get him!"

"Oh, _Adrian_ _!"_

Growling softly he picked up speed, feeling his legs burn in protest as he did so. A quick dodge around a corner had him in what looked like a _really_ old part of Paris. Like, _pre-revolution_ old. Not thinking too much of it and spotting a bin nearby filled with old, raggedy clothing Adrian's mind sparked with an idea.

Still running he snagged two pieces of clothing (he'd return them later) and pulled them on as he darted up a nearby ladder.

(Later he'd curse himself for not avoiding the bin like the plague.)

Being the model he was, Adrian didn't even think twice about putting all of the clothing on as he stumbled up into a hay filled loft and tripping into a pile of yellow straw. Golden strands tangled in his hair, making it look even wilder as he scrambled up and glanced out of the loft.

For several moments he waited for the screaming to pinpoint him again, but nothing happened. A sigh of relief slipped past his lips and he stood up with a grateful smile, finally glancing down at what he was wearing . . . and then gaping in shock.

A long brown tunic draped down his chest and ended just above his knees. Darker breaches were yanked over skinny blue jeans and an old leather belt expertly tied the whole thing together from around his waist. The sneakers stuck out, but not by much as they were covered in mud from running through a puddle. Overall he looked very fashionable . . . for several centuries ago.

Adrian groaned and hit his palm to his head, muttering, "If anyone catches me wearing this, my dad is going to kill me."

Gabriel Agrest would _not_ be impressed with his son's current choice of clothing.

Which is why, of course, the roof chose that moment to decide that it was too weak to hold his weight. With a creek and the sound of splintering wood Adrian suddenly fell backwards . . .

. . . and straight into the middle of a sword fight.

Everything paused for a moment as the three older men stared at him in shock, all standing in a circle around him with their swords raised. They, too, were wearing several pieces of old fashioned clothing. In fact, Adrian's eyes widened, _everyone_ was wearing that style of clothing and _was that a camera back there?_

One of the men shook of his stunned silence with a grin as he reached down and pulled Adrian up, "Nice of you to drop in!" then shoved a sword in his hands and pointed at several guys in old, red, _pre-revolution_ army suits, "Those are the guys trying to kill us."

And suddenly everything started back up again. Swords flashed and Adrian automatically brought his up, suddenly _very_ grateful for his fencing classes. It all became a blur as metal clashed, fabric ripped, and Adrian spun from attacker to attacker.

He came to a stop briefly before three startled opponents who also paused, eyeing him, and then he lunged forward. No point in letting the enemy have a chance to strategize. Adrian grinned manically as he spun around them, Chat Noir shinning through despite not wearing his mask. A parry, a block, and a shove sent all three of them tumbling back over a tipping table. They didn't get back up.

Adrian panted, suddenly realizing how strange this all was.

 _What in the world is going on here?!_

"Watch out!" someone shouted at Adrian and he spun around, sword ready, only to blink as the grinning man from before knocked the person sneaking up on him over the head with a big foaming mug of . . . something that smelled suspiciously like alcohol. In fact, this entire scene seemed like the reenactment of a bar fight, except with swords and old fashioned clothing.

The man, still grinning, took a big drink from the mug before slamming it down on the table and slapping Adrian on the back. "Good job kid, but now's not the time to be hanging around!" he laughed and grabbed Adrian's arm, dragging him toward the door where the other two he'd dropped in on where fighting off another wave of attackers, "Let's go!"

Pulled out the door and down the street by the laughing men Adrian felt his patients sapping away with every step he took, sword still clutched readily in his hand. They came to a stop and turned to him. One looked unfazed, the other slightly baffled, and the third continued to grin like mad.

"You did good back there, kid. Maybe we should reconsider letting you join us after all!" the laughing one, Adrian was almost sure that he was drunk, said.

"Really?" Adrian questioned absentmindedly, his eyes scanning his surroundings, "How thoughtful of you."

"It was, wasn't it? Too bad we can't make it official, what with the whole thing about the Musketeer's being disbanded-" the man never got to finish his sentence as a sword hilt suddenly hit him hard enough over the head to send him into unconsciousness. At the same time his two unsuspecting companions found themselves knocked off their feet and treated with the same knock over the head.

Before he could even consider what he did, Adrian dropped the sword and sprinted off, internally screaming about insane people and how he was _never_ leaving the mansion without Gorilla _ever again._ He never noticed the stunned cameraman hidden away in a nearby wagon, gaping at the fleeing model. He could never have predicted the kind of chaos that he had just unleashed.

0~o~0

"Cut, cut, cut!" the director stormed into the small, carefully decorated bar with an explosive sigh. "I can't _believe_ that our actor for D'Artagnan _didn't show up!_ Someone get me Jerome on the line and tell him he's fired! This is the third time and we _can't delay anymore!_ Well? Is anyone - !" he stopped ranting and froze, staring around at all of the groaning men scattered about the room. "What happened here?"

A quick examination revealed several men rubbing away bruises or straightening tunics and, worst of all, his _three main actors missing._

Voice cold, Director Victor, glared around the room. "What happened here?" he demanded.

One of his cameramen darted out from under a table and stared up at him in confusion, "What do you mean, Sr.? We just finished recording the scene."

The director frowned, "Without D'Artagnan?"

"Are you kidding," one of the men on the floor groaned, "I don't know what happened to Jerome, but he fought like he was the real D'Artagnan. I was afraid I was going to really get skewered for a moment."

Director Victor narrowed his eyes, "Jerome left a message five minutes ago that said he wouldn't make it."

The actor froze and blinked, "You're saying . . . D'Artagnan wasn't Jerome?"

"No."

"So . . ." the actor pulled himself up, "Who was he?"

Pulling himself up tall and looking at all of the stunned actors, he frowned, a plan slowly pulling together and a devious glint entering his eyes. "I don't know who he was," the director commented, "But I _am_ going to find out."

He didn't know who the mysterious actor was, but if they were good enough to be mistaken for the real thing, well, then they were good enough for his movie. And he needed a new actor anyway.

Director Victor's smile became slight manic. "Show me the recording."

0~o~0

How Adrian managed to escape without anymore complications he didn't know, but he was glad that luck was on his side. A quick side trip allowed him to shed his disguise and transform into Chat Noir, despite Plagg's grumpy protests.

("What do you want? I'm _sleeeeeping."_

"Did you seriously sleep through all of that? Wait, no, don't answer that. Of course you did. Plagg . . ."

"What? Wait . . . nooooooo!"

"Claws out!")

From there it didn't take long to drop the borrowed clothing back in the bin and make his way home. His only reassurance that the whole thing couldn't be traced back to him was that he would never typically wear such ridiculous clothing. And his hair had straw in it, still. Agrests never went out in public without perfectly groomed hair.

With a sigh of relief he slipped back in his room and de-transformed as he collapsed on the bed, grateful that the stressful day finally ended. A small groan slipped past his lips as he muttered, "Never doing that again."

Plagg floated overhead with a sour expression, clutching a chunk of cheese. "You had better not. I was having a magnificent dream before you rudely woke me up."

Adrian just groaned again and decided to ignore the Kwami.

He was too tired to worry about it tonight.

0~o~0

Director Victor watched the film carefully, eyes tracing over the features of the young man that had ended up in his production. He paused the video as the face turned toward him. The pale features were set with determination, just the right amount of fear, and his brilliant green eyes sparked with hidden knowledge. The straw riddled hair gave a charming aspect to the whole 'ruff' appearance and his sword skills were nothing to laugh at either.

Absolutely perfect.

Where he had come from and who he was remained a mystery, however.

"Do we have any clue who he is?" Victor asked, not taking his eyes off of the screen.

His assistant shook her head, frowning at her own screen, "None of the other actors on the set that day have any of the same features, nor do the crew. My guess is that he wasn't really supposed to be there in the first place."

Director Victor waved his hand dismissively, "I don't care if he was supposed to be on the set or not, he will be our D'Artagnan. Look for someone with fencing skills, blond hair, and green eyes. That should narrow the search down a little bit."

The assistant winced slightly but nodded, not bothering to mention that it didn't really help that much. Just how many bond haired, green-eyed, fencers lived in Paris?

The Director wouldn't change his mind though, so they would have to keep searching.

0~o~0

Chat Noir felt a shiver go up his spin as he raced home, unaware of the storm that his actions were about to cause.

 **0~o~0**

 **I've had this on my computer for a while now. It hasn't really gone anywhere, but it might make a good one shot.**

 **Again, if anyone wants to adopt this story, please let me know. If you do, have extra two chapters already written or a chapter and a thorough outline. I've given permission for people to write or continue my stories before but nothing comes from it except they repost what I've already written. To prevent this I allow free use of the idea, but if you want to use the text I've written please have proof that you are willing and able to spend the time on it by having more ready.**

 **Please let me know what you thought of this old story. I know that I like to come back and read it just to laugh.**


End file.
